


Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

by WritingIsMyCoffee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: All fluff no angst here folks, Gavin has a gay panic, M/M, Mistletoe, The DPD throws a holiday party, Tina Chen: The Ultimate Wingwoman, dance competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingIsMyCoffee/pseuds/WritingIsMyCoffee
Summary: The DPD throws an inclusive holiday party every December, and Gavin absolutely hates it (even if he ends up going to every single one).But this year is different. Because this is the first year Nines is going to be joining in on the festivities, and Gavin has a really, really, REALLY bad crush on his partner. Bad as in "Oh No I Forgot I’m Supposed To Hate Androids" bad.





	Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tirrathee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirrathee/gifts).



> This is a winter exchange gift for the lovely Tirrathee on the Detroit: New Era discord server: https://discord.gg/m5HerUE
> 
> I hope you like it Tirrathee!!!!! Happy holidays!
> 
> The OC Mercy in this fic is from here: http://dishumored.tumblr.com/post/176603116965/remember-anita-half-android-half-fucker-meet-her

Like any workplace establishment with a functioning HR department and copious festive tryhards, the Detroit Police Department does in fact hold an annual Christmas party.

Well, it’s not exactly a Christmas party. A fair share of the precinct’s employees are of other faiths, and all of the androids that work there are technically atheists (if you don’t count the few who still cling to rA9). Ben for one is Jewish, and Hank considers himself to be agnostic.

So instead of labeling the shindig as a Strictly Christian Party, the event has become more of a hodge-podge of religions, beliefs, and the spoils of commercialism. For one special day, the bullpen is filled to the brim with kinaras, Christmas trees, and poorly-executed snowflake cutouts. Tinsel is strung around every office chair, hot chocolate is brewed in the communal coffee maker, and 10-hour video of Adam Sandler’s Hanukkah song is put on blast for all to hear.

Gavin (for purposes of salvaging his asshole reputation) hates it. Even if he ends up going every year. Even if he holds the record for longest eggnog keg stand (which is only because Hank refuses to participate. This is for obvious reasons). 

But this year...this year is different. This year Gavin really, really, _really_ hates the DPD Christmas Party. Because this is the first year Nines is going to be joining in on the festivities, and Gavin has a really, _really_ , _REALLY_ bad crush on his partner. Bad as in _Oh No I Forgot I’m Supposed To Hate Androids_ bad.

Gavin isn’t sure when shit went south. It must’ve been when Tina got promoted and got partnered with the freshly-recruited RK900. Nines’ sudden insert into both human’s lives was met with skepticism and a fair share of complaints. Then Tina decided to take the high road and work hard to shed herself of her old opinions, and a year later she has a great relationship with her partner and her datemate Mercy, who they met during an investigation.

It took longer for Gavin to warm up to Nines, given his stubborn tendencies, but somehow what they have now just  _ happened _ . Side eyes turned to longing glances. Toxic comments turned to apologies. Harsh snickers turned to warm chuckles.

When you work with someone for a while, maybe those kind of things are bound to happen.

But Gavin wants to believe there’s something to this. That Nines doesn’t just follow him to the break room as friendly company. That Nines’ sixth sense for whenever Gavin’s having a shitty day isn’t something he was programmed with. That Gavin’s efforts to break out of his shell mean something to the adorable fucker. That when they call each other up when arrests go sour to see how the other is they aren’t just kidding themselves.

Gavin  _ needs _ there to be something to this, because he’s far too gone to have it all be in his head.

It’s impossible for him to miss the party, and even less likely that he’ll be able to bounce halfway through, because Nines has already expressed interest in him coming. The  handsome, incredible android has asked him a total of two times whether or not Gavin is coming. One time could imply a casual curiosity, but _ two times _ is a whole other story.

Begrudgingly accepting his fate, Gavin shows up at the fated party with a racing pulse and his famous ugly Christmas sweater. “My Gay Apparel” is printed in beautiful, rainbow-colored lettering across his chest, and boy howdy is that more relevant than ever.

Tina and Mercy pick him up at his shitty apartment and share a cab to the station. Like all  _ Jetson _ -esc cars of the 2030’s, it runs on its own, meaning Tina and Mercy can swivel their chairs around to face him. The couple talks idly of stupid perps, hospital stories, and what movie they want to watch when they get home later. 

They both seem so in sync with one another, their trains of thought running on the same track. Not to mention the unceremonious desire in both their eyes, the fluidity of their movements as they hold each other’s hands, how utterly perfect they seem together. Something akin to jealousy thrashes in Gavin’s innards, but where there would normally be a flare of his temper there is a solemn longing.

The party is already in full swing when the three arrive. Festive drinks are lined up on a folding table, next to plates of cookies that could send the healthiest person into an insulin coma. A small clearing has been made in the center of the bullpen for dancing, and a Bluetooth speaker fights with Adam Sandler to belt out  _ Run Run Rudolph _ as loud as it can. Voices that are normally grave and monotone are light and humorous. Laughter is a hard thing to come by in a police station, but today makes up for the lack of joy.

Tins smacks Gavin on the arm. “Mercy and me are gonna wander around a bit. Go find your man.”

Gavin can feel the smoke curling off the tips of his ears. “Fuck off….you see him anywhere?”

Tina smirks, taking a quick look at the sea of festive people before them. “Nope. Gonna have to find him yourself, detective.” Then she grabs Mercy’s hand and disappears into the crowd.

Stranded on the shore of social interaction, Gavin scans the crowd for “his man.” Before him, his coworkers are already caught in the tides of communal banter. He sees Hank dressed up as Santa Claus, to the amusement of Chris and Fowler. The absence of mirth on the lieutenant's face makes it clear the outfit wasn’t his idea. Ben is slurping up punch like it’s fine wine, the LED lights embedded in his Hanukkah sweater making his plastic cup glow. Over on the opposite side of the crowd, Gavin spies Tina and Mercy making their way over to a sad piece of mistletoe hanging from the top of a whiteboard.

Then Gavin spots him. Him as in Nines. Nines as in hot tamale, that man’s  _ smoking _ . Even in a tacky lime-green elf costume, Nines still manages to put butterflies in Gavin’s stomach.

His partner is currently engaged in what seems like a very animated conversation with another less-attractive RK model. Even if they have the same face. Gavin tries not to think about that too much. The thought of wanting to smooch out Connor’s brains as much as he does with Nines makes him want to vomit.

The heart wants what the heart wants, and Connor is just not pulling off his matching elf costume the way Nines is, okay?

Palms drenched in sweat, Gavin makes the dangerous trek over to the android pair. He can’t catch any snippets of their conversation as their voices are drowned out by the laughter of his fellow officers at Hank’s expense.

When Gavin approaches, Connor and Nines go oddly quiet. Their conversation comes to an absolute stop, and they try to hide the derailment with two shit-eating grins. As if Gavin wasn’t already scared out of his whits. The last thing he needs right now is for the two to start acting all cryptic. Or at least, more so than usual.

“Gavin,” Nines greets him complacently.

Gavin tucks his hands in his back pockets and tries to act as oblivious as possible. No sense in begging for questions they clearly won’t answer. “Nines. The fuck you tin cans wearing?”

“We’re elves,” Connor replies cheerfully, and god damn if The Android Sent By Cyberlife can’t be oddly adorable when he wants to be. But he’s still not hot. Nope. Just Nines. That’s not weird, right? Nope, not at all.

“You’re something, that’s for sure.”

The blue skies in Nines’ eyes set their sights on Gavin. “Nice sweater.”

Panic alarms go off in Gavin’s head. “You think so?”

“I do. It’s clever. I like it.”

Nines might as well have dropped kicked Gavin by the way his insides swell up and combust. Something warm spews out of him in the form of a stuttery reply. “C-Cool.”

God, he hasn’t acted this awkward since high school. Okay, college. Okay, the police academy.  _ Okay _ , so he’s always been awkward. It was easy to hide his uncanny attributes when he was an asshole, but now he’s not an asshole. At least, not as much of one as he used to be.

A charged quiet settles in between them. Gavin is having trouble making direct eye-contact, while Nines is excelling at it. What does the android want him to say? Does Nines want him to say anything? Their conversation has only lasted about thirty seconds, of course he wants to continue it. But what the hell does Gavin  _ say?  _ WHY IS TALKING SO HARD?

“Do you have any holiday plans, Detective Reed?” Connor asks. Gavin just now realizes he has a sparkling glass of thirium in a plastic martini glass, but only because Connor uses it to hide a particularly smug smile.

Nurse a six-pack and watch  _ Die Hard _ . Maybe call his mother if he’s feeling oddly forgiving this year. Definitely not calling Elijah, though. That creepo of a half-brother can have his Bond villain mansion all to himself this season.

Basically, all of Gavin’s plans consist of him being alone in a glorified portion of the year that celebrates bonds and connections.

It’s a sad existence, but it’s the Gavin Reed Existence ™.

“Nah, nothin’ really except for work. Got, uh, got a small red ice ring I’m tracking right now.”

There’s a knowing pity in Nines’ expression, but it’s not like Gavin is that tricky a person to read (or at least, stereotype). “Sounds exciting.”

“Ye- _ p _ .” Gavin hates himself for popping the P at the end. “You got any, Nueve?”

A sparkle glistens across Nines’ eyes. “Well, I have no concrete plans at the moment, but I was hoping since-”

Suddenly, the music dies. The officers milling around the center of the bullpen come to a slow halt. Gavin turns, taking the opportunity to wipe a bead of sweat off his brow. Even that little bit of dialogue is hard. If he gets whatever he wants out of this relationship, how is ever going to last?

Standing on a wobbly office chair is Tina, with Mercy holding onto the armrests to help stabilize her. In Tina’s right hand is the speaker, which has been muted. There is a wicked grin on her face, and Gavin’s fight-or-flight response kicks in too late to save him.

“Hey all you nasty party people! Who’s up for a DANCE CONTEST?”

The reaction of the bullpen is is mixed, but for the most part the people are for it. Gavin is one-hundred percent against this idea, because he has a sneaky suspicion of what Tina is going to say next.

“This is gonna be a partnered event, so grab the nearest unfortunate soul to you and get to boogieing. Winners get to split the used Target gift card in my back pocket. Judges consist of me and the tall drink of water keeping me from falling. You start when the music starts!”

People begin to pair up immediately. Human and android employees are joined over mutual desires of a portion of the probable five bucks Tina still has left on her card. Hank tries to book it off the dance floor, but Fowler intercepts him and drags him back (the grumpy Santa doesn’t look that dismayed to be dancing with the captain, however). Gavin spies Chris waving someone over to him and-oh...oh, it’s Connor.

Which can only mean-

“Care to be my partner, Gavin?”

Oh no.

There’s a hand extended for Gavin when he finally manages to turn back around. Nines looks at him expectantly, with an optimism that shakes him to his very core. His blue eyes are incredibly soft, and his cheeks are dusted aqua, and his smiling lips are parted just enough to give the flustered detective a peak of his pearly-white teeth.

Gavin wants to die

“WE’RE STARTING SOON SO PICK YOUR PARTNER!” Tina yells, as if she’s watching their little exchange and waiting for Gavin to make his move.

There’s no time to chicken out, and Gavin knows deep down he wants this. He wants this dance. He wants to kick everyone else's ass on the dance floor and get the $2.50 he deserves.

More importantly, Gavin wants Nines. 

He swallows thickly and takes Nines’ hand in his own. “You better not screw this up for us.”

The corners of Nines’ eyes crinkle as his smile grows. “Is it really me you should be worried about?”

“Bite me.”

He’s leading Gavin towards the other couple now and fuck, this is really happening, isn’t it? Oh God, the concept of dancing was nowhere as terrifying as the actual thing. The few surviving brain cells Gavin still has are yelling at him to ABORT MISSION  _ ABORT _ .

They stop. Nines has another hand hovering over his hip. He waits for Gavin to nod before setting it down. His touch holds the same warmth as clothes that have just been taken out of the dryer. Gavin rides a fine line between tensing up and leaning too heavily against his palm.

Mercy takes the speaker from Tina, their LED flashing yellow for just a brief moment before turning back to blue. “Alright, you have until the end of this song to prove to us you deserve that gift card. And START!”

The song starts out slow. Just a few little  _ tinks _ of a xylophone.

Then the vocals kick in, and Nines dips Gavin suddenly as Mariah Carey belts out, “I….don’t want a lot for Christmas…”

Blood rises to Gavin’s cheeks, and not just because his head is tilted downwards. “U-Uh, Nines?”

“Too much?” his partner asks.

Gavin finds himself grinning. “Nah, nah. What’s your plan here?”

The next verse is sung, and Nines swings Gavin back up to his full height. “I was thinking of a traditional swing dance routine. Traditionally, it is meant for more jazz-type songs, but given the brisk tempo of Miss Carey’s holiday classic-”

Nines does something weird with his hips, meaning Gavin’s hips do the same weird, 90° swivel. Their feet are side-stepping back and forth, up and down, and while the pace is rigorous Gavin finds himself falling into a rhythm.

“Is this all you do?” he asks.

Nines’ expression moves like a seesaw as he contemplates his answer. “More or less, but there are many more steps involved if we were to-”

And then Gavin is spinning. The action lasts no more but a second, but the world slows just long enough for him to watch the eyes of the entire department fly his way. When he comes back to face Nines, the deeper flush on his partner’s face electrifies his entire body.

“-Spice things up,” Nines finishes. “But that’s meant more for trained professionals.”

Gavin takes in the blush overtaking Nines’ face, the weightlessness in his own chest, and the months upon months of building compassion he holds for his colleague, and does something risky. He tries to flirt.

“Toss me around all you want. Let’s whoop some ass, hot stuff.”

It’s not much, just a little compliment thrown on the end for Flavor, but Nines is the color of a blueberry.

The chorus kicks in, and they dance as if the world were ending.

Their knees bend and swerve, angling themselves in a way that pulls at Gavin’s muscles. There’s no doubt he’ll be aching tomorrow, but tonight he couldn’t give a single fuck about the future. All that matters is Nines, and his dazzling smile, and hips like Shakira, and the toned arms he uses to swing Gavin around. He dips him repeatedly, rolls Gavin out away from him, only to pull him back like the crack of a whip.

It’s a mystery to Gavin how he’s holding on. His body moves with the grace of a newborn gazelle, and his stamina is no match for Nines’ infinite supply. Yet he’s still dancing, and he’s grinning so hard his cheeks burn. He can’t remember the last time he felt this damn happy.

Nines pulls Gavin into him again, his chest to the other’s back. He puts his hands firmly on Gavin’s hips and gently forces to move in sync with his, round and round like a figure eight. Gavin is melting. He’s a pile of fucking goo and Nines is just molding him into a solid shape he can manipulate.

The next verse arrives, and Gavin goes back to being a hacky sack. A delicately maneuvered hacky sack whose partner has the hands of a saint. Like Jesus, he gave Nines permission to go hog wild, but the only physical strain he comes from is his lack of an exercise routine.

The competition is dwindling away group by group. Some partners are sidestepping oddly in a futile attempt to keep up, while others have just stopped entirely. Tina and Mercy are calling people off the dance floor they deem unworthy of winning, but never to they even jokingly call out Gavin and Nines. They are playing on an entirely different field.

Then Gavin’s ankle pops. He stumbles, slipping from Nines’ grasp and falling to the floor. Before ugly sweater meets concrete, those arms are back around his torso, swaying him across the room in an arc that pulls him back to his feet. He blinks dumbfounded at Nines, far too gay (in both meanings of the word) to jump right back into things again.

“You okay?” Nines asks, a crease between his brow.

Oh Nines. Oh sweet, resplendent Nines. Gavin has never felt more okay in his entire life. He feels loved. He feels cherished. He feels a joy that words fail to describe in full.

“Hell yeah.”

They continue swinging, dipping, diving, whatever the fuck the dance moves are called. And all the while Gavin is pulsing with magnificent tenderness.

The other contestants are sent off the dance floor. Like they ever had a fucking chance. Eventually, Mariah Carey’s voice grows quieter and quieter, until it fades away like the stars put to sleep by the sun.

Nines pulls Gavin close to him one last time as the song ends. They stand hand in hand, faces mere inches apart. The bullpen is silent save for Gavin’s labored breathing.

“I do believe we won,” Nines remarks. The blush on his cheeks has not disappeared.

Neither has Gavin’s. He’s not sure who leas in first, but their lips make contact, and pure bliss washes over him.

The bullpen erupts into hoops and hollers. Tina screams like a fucking banshee. Gavin could care less about their enthusiastic audience. All that matters is Nines. Nines. Nines.  _ Nines _ .

Eventually the kiss does end (curse Gavin’s dumb human lungs), but they both know quite well there will be plenty more in the future.

The speaker is turned back on and the party goes back to its regularly-scheduled programming. Tina and Mercy walk up to the two of them, clearly pleased with the outcome of their little contest.

“Congrats you two,” Mercy smirks. “Plan worked like a charm, aye Nines?”

Gavin’s smile drops. His eyes narrow, and he shoots Tina a death glare. “ _ You. _ ”

Tina has tears of joy in her eyes. She slips the Target gift card into his hand and folds his fingers tightly over it. “You were taking too long to make a move. It’s my holiday gift to you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too.” She takes Mercy’s hand and they wander off, leaving the couple on their lonesome.

Gavin looks to Nines. “You knew the whole time, you beautiful bastard.”

Nines shrugs innocently. “I just happen to be very good at swing dancing.”

“Uh huh, yeah.” Gavin steps away from him, one hand still intertwined with Nines, and drags him off the dance floor. “Don’t think for a second I believe that bullshit. You’ve probably been practicing those moves in the mirror for the past month.”

“Maybe,” Nines replies sheepishly. “I wanted to give everyone a good show.”

“And what did you want to give me?” Gavin asks.

“A good time.”

Gavin comes to a stop by the whiteboard with the mistletoe. “Well, you accomplished your mission. Fucking A, Nines. That was...that was something special.”

Nines beams, and Gavin swears he will do everything in his power to make him look like that every day. “I never got to finish telling you my holiday plans.”

“Oh?” Gavin slinks his arms around Nines’ shoulders.

“I was hoping a certain someone may accept my invitation to spend the holiday weekend together at my place.”

Gavin’s heart is doing jumping jacks. “Well, that certain someone is one lucky son of a gun. And what to you want them to say?”

“I was hoping...he’d say yes,” Nines confesses, his voice suddenly soft.

Gavin cups his the side of his face with his free hand. Nines leans fully into his touch. “I think he will.”

They kiss again under the mistletoe like they’re the leads in a Hallmark movie, and Gavin happily admits the annual DPD holiday party doesn’t suck as much as it could.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
